


Looking for somewhere to stand and stay

by linana (carpediorma)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpediorma/pseuds/linana
Summary: Ray is almost the same, which means he still looks like shit. There are some weird things about him, though, and it doesn’t take a Recon marine to recognize them.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. My leg is sparkles, my leg is pins

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Here is my first fanfic ever!  
> This was born because I: a) wanted to see Ray as a dad and b) don’t really like swearing, so the baby would be an excuse for the uncharacteristic lack of foul language.  
> English isn’t my first language, expect mistakes and weird phrasing.

No military manual teaches how to deal with one’s mother’s emotional breakdown. Especially, when the reason for it is the way “you’re wasting away, you’re living like a ghost!”. One of his sisters, the traitor who at the start of the dinner said to him “it’s nice to see you’re adjusting well”, is now looking at him like he’s a monster.

His father doesn’t look up from his plate, and Brad knows he won’t say a word. He knows because that’s what Brad would do if he wasn’t the one being addressed. He takes after his father.

His other sister, daring and meddling, tells him “you’re old enough to get your shit together.” She never swears, and their mother winces at the insult. She also starts crying harder.

Brad is calm, he doesn’t feel the weight of their claims. It’s not like he’s avoiding dealing with his feelings, nor he’s hiding his troubles. There’s just… nothing there. Nothing to reevaluate, not a thing to talk to a therapist about.

The women in his family contain universes. They make up in depth and complexity for both his father and himself; and they feel so much all the time. The problem is they can’t comprehend not everyone’s like them.

Brad’s an uncomplicated person.

* * *

The next day, he tells his family he’s going to visit Ray for a couple of days. His sister sighs and looks like she wants to remind him that he hasn’t talked to him in over a year, but she doesn’t.

* * *

It takes time, but one accommodates to life as a civilian. When he least expected, his clothes’ softness becomes bearable. He stops waking up in the middle of the night to imaginary gunshots and screams.

All he needs is the wind against his face as he speeds with his bike.

* * *

Ray is almost the same, which means he still looks like shit. There are some weird things about him, though, and it doesn’t take a Recon marine to recognize them.

For starters, before any word exchange, a loud wailing welcomes Brad. There’s a feeding bottle in Ray’s hand, and in his face, there’s a worry he hardly showed in Iraq, even in their most dangerous missions.

Once inside, his eyes check the scenery, assessing his surroundings. A stroller by the door, plush toys all over the living room, and a pink cradle by the window. Inside, he peeks at a baby.

Brad has found enough incriminating evidence to form a proper analysis of Ray’s situation, but there’s no way to process it.

“What the fuck? When the fuck did you get _this_?” he asks stupidly, pointing at the baby. The toddler has stopped crying and is looking at him with huge eyes.

“ _This_ is Ellie, my daughter,” Ray answers, picking her up. “She’s one year old.”

“Why didn’t you said anything?”

“It’s been hard, homes. Besides, you appeared here out of nowhere, right? We are even.” Ray smiles easily. He’s a fucking idiot.

“I came to visit for a few days. You, on the other hand, have gone through a major change in your life. I will go home at the end of the week, but you will have _that_ forever,” Brad can’t make sense of the child in Ray’s arms. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Can you not﹘stop swearing, homes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Ray?”

“I don’t﹘ I don’t want that for her,” Ray explains. “I have read books about parenting, Brad. Her brain has doubled in size by now, she’s able to take in what we say. And her mom will kill me if her first word is an insult.”

* * *

The circumstances of Ellie’s birth turn out to be quite complicated. Her mom, Paula, met Ray at a bar during an indefinite break with her husband. Apparently, a kid out of wedlock was what they needed to strengthen the relationship, so now Ellie splits her time between her mom’s family and Ray.

“The judge said it was the first time he had seen something like that, but we were able to reach an agreement,” Ray assures him. He doesn’t seem to realize how fucked up the whole thing is. “She’s with me from Friday to Sunday, I have to take her to Paula’s tomorrow in the afternoon.”

Ray looks up from where he’s watching Ellie playing with her toys. His smile doesn’t look anything like the ones he wore in Iraq, which makes Brad realize how much of his antics were an act. The platoon needed a distraction and Ray played the part.

Brad knows Ray isn’t like him. He’s a layered, contradicting person. For a long time, he thought he was able to see through him, maybe the only one to do so.

Seeing Ray like this, smiling so genuinely, tells him he was wrong.

Of course, there’s more to the idiot.

* * *

Brad doesn’t know much about children and, although it doesn’t particularly interest him, he picks up a few things while observing Ellie Person.

He learns that: a) One-year-olds possess a seemingly inextinguishable source of energy that allows them to scream and crawl for an extended period of time, b) keep trying to establish conversations with adults even though their communication skills are pretty much nonexistent, and c) bite.

Brad doesn’t know much about children, though, so those traits could apply to Person’s monstrous kid only.

Still, he thinks she’s cute. She seems to take notice of everything that surrounds her, from the outside noises —she lets out an exclamation every time a car honks—, to the way her father laughs at Brad. Ray’s convinced she’s smarter than other kids her age and keeps listing reasons that prove his point.

It’s late when she falls asleep in Ray’s arms, his dog tags’ tightly grabbed by her tiny hand.

* * *

“So, like, are we going to talk about why you’re here all of a sudden?” Ray ventures, with a fucking tea in his hand. He stopped drinking as soon he knew Paula was pregnant, he tells him, “ _it’s for the best._ ”

“My mother is worried about me. And I don’t care for it, so I came here for a change.” Brad answers, pointedly.

“ _Please, don’t replicate her ways or I’ll leave_ ”, he doesn’t say, but Ray seems to catch the implication.

“Okay, but, why me? A girl could start to wonder, Colbert.” Ray jokes.

Ray always jokes. That’s why he’s here.

* * *

He’s awakened by Ray’s voice. The couch is small and kind of uncomfortable, but he felt so weary the night before that he fell asleep immediately.

By the time his back stops resenting him, he gets up and goes outside, where he finds Ray having a conversation with his daughter, attempting to persuade her about her pacifier usage.

“This book I’m reading says if you keep using it, you could get dental problems.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to end up being a buck-toothed hick like your dad, Ellie.” Brad interrupts, and then he feels like an idiot for talking to a toddler.

He gets a little reward when the kid laughs loudly as if she understood.

* * *

One-year-olds, Brad now knows, are messy motherfuckers. Ellie keeps throwing her food in all directions and, worse, handing him chewed parts of it.

“It’s a gift!” Ray says, delighted.

Seeing him go Full Dad Mode is quite frightening. He’s like an efficient octopus. Ray manages to prepare a meal, a healthy and balanced one. He operates his washing machine effortlessly and even keeps a list attached to the refrigerator, with all the items he needs to buy during the week.

Brad refuses to accept it, but he’s kind of seeing his mother’s point.

The reason he chooses to come here is that he was sure that, of all the guys in the platoon, Ray would be the one that would feel the most like him. This new version of him is slowly showing him that Brad is the only one stuck.

“Your food is getting cold, Sargent,” Ray tells him playfully, after throwing a piece of carrot in his face.

* * *

The ride to Paula’s is nice. Ellie’s extremely chatty, pointing at everything that catches her attention through the window from her car seat.

When they arrive, there’s a young woman with a child sitting on the porch of a nice, spacious house.

The kid’s name is Sophie. She inquires who Brad is, but quickly interrupts him before he can answer. She’s five years old, her favorite color is blue, and she missed her little sister “ _a whole lot._ ”

“Hey, Paul. Hey, kiddo. This is Brad.”

“Hi, Brad!” He thinks he sees a trace of recognition in Paula’s eyes. “How was it with the little one?”

“It was okay. She’s great.” He admits. Ray smiles at him.

“I’m glad, then! I’ll call you later, Ray.” She says while holding Ellie and Sophie’s hand at the same time. Brad suspects he wouldn’t be able to do it, even with training.

* * *

“Ray, what the hell did she saw in you?”

“Nothing, really. She was going through a rough patch, and I was there, I guess. It’s not like she _saw me_.” Ray confesses. “And it’s not like I _saw her_ , either.”


	2. I want to start over, I want to be winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing happens, really. But that's kinda what Brad wants ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you so much for reading! I hope this doesn't disappoint!  
> Sorry if there are mistakes, and if the thing with Paula weirds you out (in my defense, something like that could TOTALLY happen in my hometown)

They’re sitting in Ray’s backyard. He’s drinking a beer, the freezing contact of the can feels nice in his hand. Brad can’t help glancing at Ray’s soda with disgust. Coconut flavored. Who the fuck likes drinking that shit? Ray may have changed, but he’s still a nasty bitch.

He’s talking his head off, and that’s what Brad needs, at the moment. Not nagging nor recriminations. Being in the company of someone like Ray, who’s able to fill endless hours with his own words, no need for a second voice to complete his one-man performance. 

He enjoys being Ray’s spectator, seeing his eagerness to elicit a reaction in Brad. Ray doesn’t expect anything from him, except for a smile or an eye-roll whenever his anecdotes get too ridiculous. This hasn’t changed at all.

Brad has a good memory, prodigious even, that used to be the source of jealousy of his high school classmates. He’s able to remember every single exchange of words with Lieutenant Fick, from the first time they saw each other and only knew what others had said about them, to the day they parted ways and Nate confided him he wasn’t coming back for another mission. He also remembers every conversation he shared with Walt, every pointless attempt to make his experience a little more bearable. 

He will never forget his mother’s face when he told her he wanted to enlist. 

With Ray it’s different. He can’t recall any of the million conversations they’ve had, not a single detail about them. Brad used to think that was because it was all vacuous talk, bullshit to fill the hours. Now, with him by his side, he realizes that maybe the reason it's that talking with Ray comes easy, organic even. 

There's no burden to weight him down in Ray’s words, they don’t make a nest inside his head to haunt him. Ray's voice enters his brain, and then drifts, light.

* * *

“Hey! What did you mean? When you said you and Paula didn’t _see each other_?” Ray looks at him from the kitchen counter, where he’s drinking a glass of water. “That was fucking gay, Person.” 

“Fuck off, Colbert.”

* * *

Every member of his family reacts the way he expects them.

He has a few messages from his mom whose principal premise would be “you are an adult and can leave whenever you want, but you have to let me know you’re alive.” His father has sent a lonely email with a bunch of articles about paleontology, not other words than the “love, dad” that serves as the subject. 

To his dismay, one of his sisters has sent him a link to a video titled “ten easy and cheap ways to improve your life.” The other hasn’t contacted him at all. 

Brad’s okay with that. He doesn’t need anything.

* * *

Ray works in a men’s clothing store. On Monday, he wakes up on time and has breakfast. He changes into his uniform, a dress shirt with black trousers, and Brad marvels at how different this one is from the massive attire they used back in Iraq. 

“Here, the only threat is fat sixty years olds that don’t accept their size has gone up once again.” Ray laughs. 

The night before, he talked to Brad about how much he enjoys this job. 

“Of course, there are some crazy motherfuckers,” He conceded. “but it’s nice talking to all kinds of people. Keeps me sane.” 

Ray also said he likes how banal it feels, how little importance his performance holds in the big scheme of things. He said: “Delores, my manager, tries to motivate me, and warns me I will not move up the career ladder with that attitude.”

He keeps laughing, but Brad knows.

* * *

It takes time, but one accommodates to life as a civilian. Brad jumped from job to job during the first months after he left the Marine Corps.

Once landed his job at construction, he did move up the career ladder due to his “sharp and clear-sighted” approachment to work. Before that, though, nothing that remained in him from his military days was useful.

It felt like the world had a set of coordinates Brad couldn’t read. His professionalism and his medals meant nothing outside the Corps. His past as a Marine was as burdensome and suffocating as the MOPP suit they used to wear.

Things are different now, and working at construction is easy, but Brad gets it. With resumes like theirs, a job without a body count becomes necessary.

It’s nice to build things instead of destroying them for a change.

* * *

In the meantime, Brad seizes his Ray-less time by exploring the neighborhood. The house is tiny and needs some minor fixes he’ll try to get his hands on while he’s alone. 

Neighboring houses look mostly the same, and some of them have swings and kids toys scattered all over their front yards, which is always good. As long as Ray stays there, Ellie won’t be lonely. 

A few blocks away, there’s a convenience store. Brad struggles to understand Ray’s handwriting in the list he took from the refrigerator, but ultimately accomplishes to buy every item on it. 

There’s a kid’s section in the shop. Brad doesn’t exactly know what one year olds are into, but figures the multicolor giraffe with wheels instead of feet must be a feat. 

He also grabs a few plush toys and a four piece puzzle, for good measure. 

The clerk store, extremely good-natured, exclaims: “Oh my! Your child will be happy!”

He doesn’t correct her.

* * *

Once Ray is back, he announces: “Paula called during my break, and invited us over for dinner on Wednesday.”

“Hey, quick question. Do you suffer from brain damage or something?” Brad doesn’t think his face is able to convey how fucked up this is. 

“Shut up, homes! It’s only weird if you make it weird.” Ray retorts back.

“Dude, those kids are going to grow up with so many issues.” He laughs. “Of all the guys on this goddamn planet, only you could end tangled up in this kind of situation.”

* * *

That night, while he’s laying in the couch, unable to sleep, Brad thinks about the ways Ray’s situation both mirrors and differs of his own. 

He knows what it feels like to want somebody you can’t have. Someone like him is able to handle it with no problems, but to someone like Ray it could be catastrophic. Brad is determined to intervene. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *KILL BILL SIRENS*


	3. Everything I love gets lost in the drawers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading, I hope this isn't so bad!  
> PS: Someday I'll figure out when to use 'on' or 'in', but today's not the day. I'M SORRY (applies for the rest of the chapters to come)

On Thursday, while they’re having breakfast, Brad comes up with a plan. 

“I can’t go out, man. I have work tomorrow.” Ray answers, unamused. “Besides, I don’t drink anymore, remember?”

“C’mon, Ray! You can have fun without alcohol.” He says, mockingly. “And we wouldn’t be out much, just enough to eat some greasy food and ogle some chicks.” 

Ray shoots him a look of disbelief and shrugs. “What happened during all that time we didn’t see each other? Eating greasy food and ogling chicks in a shitty bar full of randos sounds like nightmare fuel for you.”

“I’ve been holed up here since I came. I’m tired of your shitty couch.” Brad explains and hopes he sounds convincing.

* * *

The hangout goes, unsurprisingly, wrong. Or not that, because “wrong” would imply something went awry, and the reality is absolutely nothing is happening. 

Brad’s expecting Ray to pick up a girl. He has no problem staying in a hotel for the night, wasn’t kidding about his growing aversion towards the couch. Ray’s idea of a fun night out, though, is stuffing his face and drinking three different kinds of sodas simultaneously, one more disgusting than the other. 

“You know, you’re looking quite dissatisfied for someone who practically begged me to come here.” Ray mocks him. “What? Sad that babes don’t come your way? Don’t worry, Sargeant! I could chat up any of them for you, ease up that first contact, and then boom! In the bag! Please, don’t stop on my accou﹘” 

“Shut the fuck up, Ray.” Brad answers. “I don’t want that. _You_ could chat up some of the ladies for _yourself_ , you know?”

Ray’s playfulness comes to a stop, and his face falls all of a sudden. Brad tries to make sense of the abrupt change. This is yet another proof Ray isn’t the same, because before he would surely keep joking and come up with some creative jab until his diatribe got unbearable. 

“What do you mean? "You don’t want that”, what the fuck? And﹘wait a minute, are _you_ trying to get me laid, Brad?” 

“I just think you could benefit from it.” He fumbles. “I imagine you’ve been quite busy with Ellie and your job.” 

It’s not the time to be unsure, so he tries to speak with as much assurance as he can muster. Unfortunately, he’s starting to realize the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“I appreciate your thoughts, but I don’t want _that_ either,” Ray answers, voice filled with sarcasm. “It warms my heart you’re thinking about my well-being, though.”

* * *

On the ride back, Ray inquires: “How did you know I’m not seeing someone?” 

“Please, no woman has set foot in that house of yours in years. I just know it.”

“Ha! You’re right about that, Bradley.” He says knowingly.

* * *

Brad is settling himself on the couch, resigned to another night of bad sleep when Ray wanders into the kitchen. 

“So, I was thinking we could share my bed tonight. It’s pretty big and comfy. Or you could always fuck your back even more, of course.” 

His room is a surprise. He expects a mess, something akin to a battlefield. There’s not a lot of stuff in it. 

Ellie’s cradle in a corner, and an organizer with even more toys in the other. A shelf that hasn’t been put up yet, and Brad’s appointing as his new task for tomorrow. 

He grabs the picture that’s on the nightstand. It’s evident not Ray nor Ellie were expecting to be photographed, she has been caught mid-yawn and he’s with his mouth open, clearly talking when the picture was snapped. The photographer doesn’t seem to have much expertise, since there’s a thumb sticking in the frame. 

“Sophie took it,” Ray explains, smiling. 

“Ellie looks tired of your bullshit already. Poor kid.” 

Once they’re in bed, the room completely engulfed by the dark, Ray says:

“You really tried to get me to fuck with a girl.” There’s amusement in his voice. “That’s not what I’m looking for, so please refrain to intervene, Bradley. It will be just embarrassing for both of us.”

“I really mean it, though, meeting someone new could be good for you.” He answers. 

“Did my therapist send you, Brad? Are you an infiltrated agent sent to unfuck my life?” Despite the darkness, he can feel the weight of Ray’s eyes in him. “The truth is I don’t really know how to talk with civilians. I used to rely on alcohol, but we all know how that turned out.” 

His voice has turned soft, like a confession he’s not sure how to articulate. 

“Uh-huh.” Brad murmurs stupidly and closes his eyes. He's not used to this new Ray.

* * *

It takes time, but one accommodates to life as a civilian. And the longer one lives as a normal person, it becomes clearer that normalcy isn’t a good parameter for it.

It doesn't take as long as Brad would have imagined for the feeling of a gun in his hand to stop making sense. His convictions and ideas of glory begin to crumble like sand not shortly after. They’re still there, but it gets harder to shape them into something admissible. 

He's beginning to understand the look his mother directs him sometimes when she thinks he’s not paying attention. He always pays attention. It’s not the first time he’s seen pain and resentment intertwined in a mother’s eyes. 

After a big fight with his sister, the one who isn’t talking to him, she asked him why did he enlist for, and what did he achieve with it. Something in her voice told him this was his last chance. He said: “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” 

Brad gives up in the game of interacting with civilians quickly, exhausted from all the tiptoeing around the things he’s done. Everything's better now, but only because he has refused to explain himself. It’s not like he would be able to do so, either way.

Before, he was able to come up with some shit to respond the question "what is war?". War is about power, war is about resources, war is about honor. War is about all those three and a bunch more reasons that no Marine will ever know because they fall upon Command. War is about destroying lives, any life, any form of it.

Now, he concludes, war is a question with no answer.

* * *

When Brad wakes up, Ray isn't by his side anymore.


	4. You could drive a car through my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! Sorry for taking so long, this was very hard to write. I don't hate the whole story, but that thing with Paula is wack!!!! I don't know why I wrote it like that and I'll probably change it eventually because I hate it!!!  
> This fic is *Shiv Roy voice* the first pancake, sorry.  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!  
> (It's late and I'm tired so there's probably mistakes, sorry for that too)

Paula’s husband is a sentient lamp. Brad is sure of it by now.

He thought that first impression would fade after a while, but they’ve been sitting at the table for an hour and the guy hasn’t said a word. He’s beginning to understand the circumstances that lead Paula to Ray and, full disclosure, he doesn’t blame her. Ray might not be a catch, but at least he can hold a conversation.

The walls around them display an impressive number of pictures, one cornier than the other. Ray isn’t in any of them, of course, that would be weird. Brad feels extremely out of place in this perfect house, eating a perfect meal accompanied by a perfect family. He can’t even begin to imagine how Ray feels with all of it.

“Who’s your best friend?” A tiny voice interrupts him and his musings, and he realizes he’s been frowning at his plate for the last few minutes. Sophie has seated in front of him, staring expectantly. Ray smiles at him and speaks before he has a chance to answer.

“I’m his best friend, kiddo! He won’t say it, but it’s true. I'm the only one who wants to spend time with him!”

Paula looks at her husband, and that five feet of _nothing_ dares to smile at her with complicity as if they're sharing a joke only the two of them know. What the fuck does that mean?

Ray keeps talking to the girl and doesn't notice the way those two are... mocking him? Brad doesn't know what's going on, but he doesn't like it. Looks like it isn't enough for Paula to keep him around, acting all nice and confusing him; she has to rub in Ray's face how happy she is with that sad excuse of a man, too.

"He looks mean," Sophie whispers to Ray, her little hands covering her mouth as if keeping the secret. "Why are you his friend?"

"He's _okay_ , kid, even though he isn't showing it." He assures her while staring at Brad pointedly. _Cut it out_ , he mouths in his direction.

He's using all his facial muscles to tell him to shut up without actually saying it, but Brad isn't planning to. Just because Ray keeps acting like he's used to this situation like he doesn't see any problem with it doesn't make it okay.

 _You're concerned about the wrong person, Sophie,_ he wants to say, but he knows this issue should be addressed between adults, as dumb and immature they seem to be. 

"Excuse me, Paula. Could you please show me the way to the restroom?"

With a smile, she guides him through a spacious hallway. She's walking in front of him, so he can't see her face, but she sounds delighted.

"I'm glad to finally meet you!" Paula says. "Ray is quite sparse with details about his... past, he doesn't like to talk about it, but you always manage to pop up in every conversation. It's nice of you to come around!"

She keeps glancing at him amusingly like she knows something he doesn't. She signals the bathroom door, and Brad stops her when she's turning to leave.

"Paula, I have to ask you a favor." He states, trying to choose his words carefully. "I don't quite understand what's going on between you and him, but I need you to stop doing what you're doing."

Her smile, so open and friendly before, begins to falter. "What do you mean?"

"You have to stop giving him false hope." 

"What are you implying? You think I'm leading him on?" 

He knows he shouldn’t be meddling in others’ business, but Ray _really_ is his best friend. He seems to be enduring this shitty situation alone, without anyone to support him. He knows what it feels to want someone who keeps acting as if they’ve never considered your feelings, and Brad doesn’t want that for Ray. 

"What's all this then, if not that? I'm not sure what kind of thrill brings you keeping him around, but he deserves better." 

"Do you know why I keep him around, Brad?" She answers, growing upset. "He's my daughter's father, and for her sake, I have to ensure his well being. When was the last time you saw him? When was the last time you spoke to him? And don't even try to bullshit me because I know the truth."

Brad tries to intervene and defend himself, but Paula interrupts him, voice filled with sadness: "In the time you spent here, have you see him talking to anyone? He's _so_ alone, Brad. I'm trying to support him the best way I can, so you don't get to appear out of nowhere and act all sanctimonious when you don't know _shit_."

“I know he’s alone. That’s why I’m concerned!” He exclaims. “And I do know this whole thing with you can’t be good for him.”

"We both were in a really bad place when we first met and we made a mistake. I know it's not the best scenario, _I know_. But I'm trying, really hard. So don’t come to my house and think I’ll just accept your baseless judgment."

Paula looks exhausted as if she has had this discussion many times before. 

"I’ll give you a moment in the bathroom, so we both can calm down.” She sighs and turns around to leave while saying: “You're actually right about one thing. He _does_ deserve someone better."

* * *

The ride back to Ray’s home is wildly different from the one they did earlier to Paula’s. Ray doesn’t open his mouth in any moment of the travel, his eyes focused on the road as he grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Brad spends the night on the couch.

* * *

It takes time, but one accommodates to life as a civilian. A day when it’s least expected, he stops yearning for something else that will never come and realizes that his future will be forever marred by the things he did while he was in Iraq. 

What remains of his life is a direct consequence of his actions in the war, of all the houses he surveyed and all the cars he shot. All the orders he abided, and the casualties that resulted from them.

At first, this newfound stage of self-awareness was maddening. He’s completely at peace with it at this point. It makes things simpler, and for that he’s grateful.

* * *

When he wakes up and Ray is nowhere to be found, Brad grabs the direction pinned in the refrigerator that Ray left him in case of an emergency; then he takes a cab to his work. 

He arrives and tries to go unnoticed as he observes Ray dealing with a client. It seems like he’s one of the difficult ones, the guy keeps shaking his head at every item he’s shown. 

Ray is being extremely patient, smiling kindly despite the dude’s refusal to cooperate. Dealing with Command’s bullshit trained him better than any manager store. Brad is trying to get closer to hear the conversation when he senses movement to his right. 

There’s a teenage girl looking at him, bewildered. Her clothes let him know she is Ray’s coworker. 

“Can I help you with something?” Her eyes keep traveling from him to the part of the store where Ray is dealing with the client, who’s turning to leave empty-handed. 

“I’m here to see him.” Brad clarifies before she calls the cops on him for suspicious behavior. He grabs a bunch of shirts from the clothing rack he had been hiding behind and approaches Ray. 

“None of those will fit you, Brad.” He says, tired. He wonders if Ray, like him, couldn’t sleep the night before. 

Brad feels mortified because he looks more miserable than when he arrived. On one side, he supposes that his reaction proved his point and he was in the right to intervene in this thing with Paula; on the other, it’s terrible to be the cause for Ray’s distress when he was attempting to bring him the opposite effect. To put him at ease, to stop him from suffering for something that wasn’t worth suffering for. 

Ray takes some hangers and guides him to the fitting room. He stands outside, acting his part and being the spitting image of a perfect employee. 

“So? Do any of them fit?”

Brad looks at the clothes in front of him, frowning. It’s easier to avoid conversations or make recriminations than to apologize. He’s an expert in the first one, has his practice with the second, but he’s not used to the latter. 

“Ray... I’m﹘I’m sorry.” He says, keeping his attention on the clothes Ray chose. They’re terrible. Brad doesn't know if it's because he's mad, or if Ray's taste is just _that_ bad. It puts the last client's experience in another perspective. 

“Shut up, Bradley.” He can’t see Ray as he answers, but his voice sounds almost gentle.


End file.
